


Impossible

by WithoutBringingMeDreams



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: M/M, inspired by 4x11 promo pics
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-29
Updated: 2014-03-29
Packaged: 2018-01-17 09:41:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1382767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WithoutBringingMeDreams/pseuds/WithoutBringingMeDreams
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When all the shit comes crashing down</p><p>Inspired by promo pics (4x11 and 4x12)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“Fuck,” Ian groaned, bucking forward with one last, desperate push. Mickey was already beyond words—his freshly spent come still shone in a trail down Ian’s chest. He kept his eyes open, though, to catch each moment of Ian’s fluttering lids and wide-open-mouth gasp as he came. Fuck if his face wasn’t amazing, every single time.

Ian pulled out and rolled off the condom while Mickey kicked away the pillows that had been under him. He reached for his cigarettes, too, because he’d need something to calm him in the next few minutes.

Post-fuck times hadn’t always freaked him out this much. Maybe there’d been a moment or two of heart-clenching fear, but it was almost always followed by giddy relief—he’d given in, pleasured himself, gotten off, and no one who’d judge him for it was any the wiser. Then he’d just shut down any bullshit emotion that wanted to squeeze its way into his mind and go on with life like nothing had changed.

Except maybe there’d be a little more bounce in his step, a little more brightness in his mood...especially if he was still around Ian.

He dragged in from the cigarette and sighed out a cloud of smoke. He shoulda known, even back then, that this turn of events was inevitable.

And by turn of events, he meant the fact that Ian had collapsed back down on him, head on his chest, their legs entwined, with one hand lazily tracing circles along Mickey’s arm as he brought it to and from his mouth to continue smoking.

Fucking _cuddling._

“Good?” Ian asked. And even though Mickey couldn’t quite see his face from his vantage point, he could feel Ian’s fucking smirk against his skin.

“Fuck you,” he mumbled, but his free hand rose of its own accord and tangled in the longer part of Ian’s red hair. “I’d never put up with this shit otherwise.”

The smirk grew until Ian tilted it further towards his skin and kissed his chest. Mickey let out a shaky breath as the ripples of warmth spread out from the tiny spot. Half of him wanted to swat the affection away, while the other half—apparently the stronger half, now—wanted to ride the wave of pleasure all the way to another climax.

He wasn’t supposed to want this so much, but he did. Never expected to feel anything like this, but here he was.

He put down the cigarette so he could pull Ian up and get a proper kiss. If he was already damned to this sappy bullshit, he might as well get his money’s worth.

Ian flopped over when he was through, resting against Mickey’s shoulder this time, and Mickey almost regretted moving him. There was something calming about having that weight on his chest—a weight that wasn’t of his own making. With Ian off him now the only thing impeding his chest rising and falling was his own fears.

“The baby’s christening is today, isn’t it?” Ian asked suddenly.

Jesus fucking Christ. Ian was all over the place these days, but why the fuck would he want to bring up something like _that_ right now?

“So what?” Time to light up another cigarette. 

“So you gonna go?”

“Why the fuck would I do that?” 

“Dunno.” Ian shrugged against him. “Just, it’s sorta sad for him, isn’t it?”

Mickey couldn’t get his eyebrows to settle down from their incredulous height. Honestly, what the fuck was wrong with the kid? “He ain’t gonna remember fuck all from his stupid dip in water.”

Ian nodded slowly. “Guess that’s true. But it’s not like you’re gonna start paying attention to him when he’s older, either.”

A sigh that was nearing a groan escaped Mickey, even with the nicotine for comfort. He was about ready to throw Ian off him altogether and leave if this was the shit he was gonna have to put up with. God, he’d take fucking cuddling any day over this guilt trip.

“He wouldn’t want me to. Trust me, he’s better off.”

Ian nodded again. “Maybe. And I guess you’re right. Guess he might not even be yours. I mean...from just that one time, what’re the odds?”

Mickey’s mouth fell open. He needed to shut it, and quickly, but fuck if Ian’s eyes weren’t on him immediately, cold and calculating.

“It was just that once, right? I mean, before you married her.”

Mickey managed to shove the cigarette against his lips, but didn’t respond.

“Jesus Christ,” Ian spat. Now he was leaving of his own accord, a sudden fire raging in his eyes. He rolled off the bed and stood. “What the fuck, Mickey!”

“Will you shut your goddamn mouth?” Mickey yelled back.

“Right. I’ll shut it. I’ll lie down and fucking take whatever you offer, right Mick? Just like always. You’re a piece of shit.”

Ian turned to storm out, still completely naked. He’d reached the door by the time Mickey let his own anger overtake him. Always lurking just beneath the surface, it boiled up and gave him the power to stand and shake off the crushing memories.

That was a problem though, because pissed like this, he was gonna say shit. Shit that really shouldn’t get said.

He grabbed Ian’s arm, his nails digging into the skin much too hard. “Don’t be a fucking idiot! You think my dad was satisfied with one fucking time? Seriously?”

“What?” Ian snatched his arm back, and Mickey felt his nails piercing the skin as it was dragged away. That was gonna leave a mark.

Ian’s panting breaths continued to fill the silence between them, forcing Mickey to look up. _Fuck._ In a matter of seconds, the wild fury in Ian’s eyes had vanished, replaced by something far worse.

Pity _._

Mickey shook his head, partly to show he had no intention of responding, and partly to blur out the image of Ian’s pained face. Emotion choked his throat and he refused to let it get any further up his body.

“What?” Ian repeated, his voice softer now. Gentle and pleading. Wanting answers Mickey couldn’t give.

“Don’t.” Why was that damn word so often the only thing Mickey could manage to bring past his lips? “Don’t…don’t make me tell you.”

Ian closed his eyes, but even so Mickey could tell from the wobble of his lips that he was fighting tears.

Fuck if he was gonna put up with that. From either of them.

So he reached up and yanked Ian down into a furious, desperate kiss. He jammed his tongue into Ian’s mouth and wished he could keep it there forever. Only the need for air forced him to let go. “Forget about this shit, okay? Everything’s cool.”

But damn that kid was stubborn, and Ian pressed on the moment he had control of his lips again. “When I came to find you, though…I was so pissed…I thought you were trying to shut me out, thought you’d gone and fucked some slut like Angie just to forget about me…no wonder you—”

“Stop!”

Fuck. His voice cracked on the word and there was no mistaking why. “Just stop. I don’t know why I did what I did…except that I am a piece of shit, okay? You and the fucking kid and even that bitch would be better off without me.”

Ian grabbed his face in both hands. “No fucking way.”

But Mickey shook him off because this was beyond what he could handle, here in this tiny room, surrounded by the scent of sex and Ian. He was naked in more ways than one, and everything was still too damn raw.

He grabbed clothing off the floor—didn’t even know if it was his or Ian’s—and left.


	2. Chapter 2

“You go to christening.” Svetlana had him cornered in the hallway by the rub and tug room. 

“Fuck no. Get back to work.”

Her mouth had been running too damn much and too damn loud lately. He wasn’t sure what he was going to do to deal with that, but at the moment it was really all he could do to keep putting one foot in front of the other. That other shit—including Ian’s sudden need to know every fucking detail of his life—would have to wait.

 _Wait until when? Until what?_ A voice in his head tried to slither its way to full consciousness. But that voice…that voice would destroy him if he gave it the chance. So he pushed it back the only way he knew how.

“And for fuck’s sake, find somewhere to stash the brat during work. No one wants to hear that crying…and if they want to see nipple they sure as shit don’t want to see a baby attached.”

She snorted softly, jiggling the infant in her arms. “What you know of woman’s breasts, eh?”

God dammit, how was it he always losing in these little exchanges? He used to be the one to get in that last dig, rolling it off his tongue with ease, and now he was being schooled by a fucking Russian whore.

“You go to christening,” she announced again. “Or I tell your father.”

Fuck. That one couldn’t go unanswered.

He backed her up against a wall—gently, though, because she was holding the fucking baby—so he could lower his voice but still make it clear he meant business.

“That line’s getting old, you know. What exactly is it you want from me? I’m giving you pretty much all the fucking cash I get. You think you’re gonna get a better offer from my dad or something if you fucking talk? ‘Cause if that’s what you’re planning on, then you’re stupider than you look.”

Her steely glare faltered for a moment, revealing a flash of something vulnerable beneath. But just as quickly, she’d set her jaw and was back to glaring. “We had deal.”

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever. Something tells me that in your pathetic life, you’ve known a few bastards who’ve broken a deal.”

Then he walked away, maybe a little too fast, because for fucking once he was going to get the last word with her.

 

***

 

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Mandy’s hair hung messily around her face—probably another attempt to hide her healing bruises. “Shouldn’t you be with your boyfriend making sure he doesn’t flip the fuck out again?" 

“Jesus.” He pushed past her to get to his room. “Don’t call him that.”

“I’m serious.” She trailed after him, and dammit, why was everyone in his life so fucking persistent all of a sudden? “What the fuck did you do to him? That’s not the fucking Ian I know.”

“Why’s everything always gotta be my fault, huh? Jesus, Mandy. Just leave me the fuck alone. I got enough on my fucking plate.”

She followed him into the bedroom anyhow, but instead of continuing to lash out at him, she slumped against the doorframe. “Okay, okay. But I’m worried, Mickey. What’s up with him? You never talk to me about shit. And he’s my best friend, you know? At least, he was, until you fucking screwed everything up.”

Mickey flopped down on his bed, a half-sneer, half-laugh breaking free to cover the pit of guilt growing in his gut. “That. That right there is why I don’t talk to you about shit. Always with the fucking chick drama. I didn’t steal your boyfriend, Mandy.”

She huffed. “No, that’s not it.”

“Oh yeah? Then you tell me, smartass.”

Her sarcastic little grin should’ve prepared him for her next words. “It’s ‘cause you’re a pussy, and you don’t want to fucking admit that you’re gay. That you fuck guys. That you fuck Ian…or should I say that Ian fucks you.”

“Get the fuck out of my room.”

Fuck, it sounded so juvenile. In fact, he’d probably said that to Mandy a hundred times over, when she’d pester him for attention or money or advice. And he did fucking feel like a child right now…in that all he wanted to do was curl up on his bed with his hands clenching pillow and wait for the first best release he’d known from his fucked-up life—sleep.

Except sleep didn’t hold a candle to Ian, and he wasn’t a little boy anymore.

“And by the way,” Mandy went on, because she was no idiot and she could sense the power shift leaning her way, “you’re going to the christening tomorrow, so you better take some fucking nice clothes over to Ian’s if you’re not staying here.”

“You and every other bitch who thinks they can run my life needs to take a fucking step back if they know what’s good for them.”

“I can run your fucking life better than you can.”

He snorted. “Yeah Mandy, you can run everyone else’s life, but not your own.” His anger at her recent decisions revived him, and he sat up to face her. The tide was fucking gonna turn in this conversation. “You’re unfuckingbelievable. I’m trying to help you out and you just go right back to the bastard who hits you.”

For a moment her ice-blue glare seared into him, unwavering, but it broke when she blinked and her features softened into the little sister he’d always known. Fuck, she was still just a kid. “You can shut the fuck up with your judgement. Kenyatta is bigger than Terry, and if I have to choose, at least I enjoy it when he fucks me.”

_At least I enjoy it when he fucks me?_

Air Mickey really couldn’t afford to lose if he planned to continue breathing rushed out of his lungs. “What?”

God, the same fucking word Ian had said to him earlier. And in that moment, he could feel his face mirroring Ian’s—guilt, pity, pain…disgust at the world and at himself for not knowing.

Because maybe he had known…he’d seen Terry slip into her room drunk at times. Whenever Terry had appeared in _his_ room with stinking breath and that glint of violence on his sweaty face, Mickey’d ended up with black and blue bruises. But sometimes Mandy survived her encounters unscathed…except for the hollow look in her sunken eyes the next day.

“Fuck, Mandy…” He headed toward her, not really sure of his intentions. Was he going to grab her and hug her? Let her cry in his arms? Cry in _her_ arms?

“Don’t fucking touch me,” she snapped. “And if you breathe another word about this, I don’t care if Ian is my best friend—I’ll cut off your balls in your sleep.”

He dropped his hands back to his side—hadn’t even realized they’d been outstretched towards her. They stood for several seconds facing each other in silence, with nothing but walls between them.

Because they were the closest of all their siblings, but this was as close as they ever got. They’d spent their whole lives constructing the barriers to keep shit out, and they couldn’t just be pulled down at a moment’s notice…even when all the person on the other side wanted to offer was comfort.

Mickey balled his useless hands into fists. From this distance—and not just physically—there wasn’t anything more he could say to her.

Her phone rang and her shoulders sagged in relief. Clearly, she’d needed the distraction to give her a way out of the moment. She headed off down the hallway as she answered and disappeared into her room.

Mickey stood still, fighting the sudden desire to rip down every fucking poster he’d ever put up—every stupid decoration he’d ever used to try to make his world a little less ugly. None of it had worked. Nothing ever would.

He was trapped here, just like his sister, suffocating slowly. Only Ian let him breathe—and how much longer could that last here in the Southside? 

Not very fucking long. So either he stayed here and died slowly, or he and Ian would have to ru—

“Mickey.” Mandy was suddenly back in his doorway. The anger—and the sadness—from earlier was gone, and the way she was chewing on her lip made it look like she was about to open up a new wound there any minute.

“That was Iggy. He said Dad’s getting out soon. Real soon.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry
> 
>  
> 
> So...I just read the 4x11 spoilers and it kinda looks like what I was gonna write might. actually. happen. Therefore...I might not be able to finish this. Apologies in advance.

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Apparently I don't like not having control of characters, because I create whole story lines based on promo pics.  
> Two more parts planned, but let's see if I get to them before 4x11 comes and destroys us all.
> 
> Maybe one day I'll edit it.
> 
> Also, writing and head-canoning Shameless gives me the worst potty mouth.


End file.
